


Under the Fairy Tree

by ArchOfImagine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Implied Character Death, Implied Underage, Incest, Inspired by Art, M/M, Memories, SPN ReverseBang 2014, Sam's memories and dreams start to blend, Sam-Centric, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He books a ticket to Georgia without thinking twice about it. He needs the see the damage to Dean’s car. Know in the tangled sheets of burnt metal that Dean really is dead.</i>
</p><p>Sam's dreams are mixing into reality and he's losing track of what's real and what isn't. Are the officers correct when they tell him his brother is dead? Or is the life he's built with a wife and a normal job in Southern California <i>fake.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Fairy Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the [Supernatural ReverseBang 2014](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) and cybel's wonderful art that can be found [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3132485)
> 
> As always, a special thanks to my beta/bff [hufflebutt.](http://hufflecas.tumblr.com)

\---

Sam has long since accepted that his dreams are never normal. After Stanford and Jess… anything and everything is possible. So he only ignores the tree twice before he starts to wonder. Why is there a solitary oak tree in the middle of his dream? What is the significance of the sprawling limbs and mossy trunk?

The answer never comes before morning, and the dream is never strong enough to last in his mind for more than an hour. 

He wakes in the same bedroom that he’s been occupying for months. It’s sleek and modern, the bed low on the floor and covered in a chocolate brown duvet. He doesn’t like it, but when one tells their wife to decorate the room without giving an opinion, it’s appropriate to live with the result without complaint. 

One glance at the clock tells Sam that he’s awake later than normal, but a few paces of his mind later he remembers that it’s Saturday. No work.

“Breakfast is ready, you lazy bum!” a voice calls from down the hall. 

Sam pulls on a pair of boxers before walking through the small one-bedroom apartment towards the kitchen. Wearing the dark blue silk nightgown from the night before, Wren stands by the stove dishing out some kind of egg scramble concoction. His wife is a big fan of experimenting in the kitchen, but he happily tries everything she sets before him. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greets, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He pushes her auburn hair aside and kisses lightly along her neck. “It smells delicious.”

“You always say that.” With a tilt of her head, she claims his lips with a quick kiss, before focusing back on the food. “Can you pour us some juice? It’s sunny out, I was thinking about eating on the patio.”

“Sunny, in Southern California? Imagine that.”

They sit together at the table on their small balcony and talk of nonsense about work. Not for the first time, Sam can’t help but think about how lucky he is to have Wren in his life. After Jessica’s sudden death he was lost. There was no way he could go to law school with so much grief in his bones, so he took the degree he had already earned and moved south to San Diego in search of a promising job. It took six months to settle into an entry-level sales position at Briary Sales and Consulting. It took another four months after that to agree to a date with the stunning redhead from two cubicles down. 

Now he’s married and happy and dreaming about oak trees instead of fire.

It’s a life he never thought he could have.

\---

Sunday is game day, and Sam’s best friend Reed shows up right around lunchtime so they can lounge on the couch and watch Kansas City take on Denver. Wren deposits a pile of snacks in front of them before kissing Sam goodbye and leaving to shop. Reed comments on how Wren is going to spend all of Sam’s money, but Sam quickly throws back a teasing, “Don’t be jealous because my wife is perfect and you’re alone.”

Midway through the game, a Chevy commercial comes on the screen. Sam stares at the large television, feeling a weird emotion flow through him. When the commercial ends and the game is back on, it occurs to him that he was staring at the oak tree in the background of the car commercial. It reminds him of the damn dream that he’s still having and still can’t figure out.

Reed yells an argument about whatever call was just made by a referee on screen, and a knock sounds from the apartment door. Sam turns his head, staring the ten or so feet across the room to the door. 

“I thought we decided no pizza,” Reed comments.

Sam answers quickly, “We did.”

He can’t explain the dread that fills the pit of his stomach as he stands and slowly walks to the door. There’s another knock. He brushes the short hair from his face and reaches out to open the door.

Two San Diego police officers are standing on the welcome mat. The dread begins to boil and bubble. _Please, not Wren,_ he thinks. “Officers. Can I help you?”

One of the two men has gray hair at his temples. He clutches his hat in his hands and glances over Sam’s shoulder into the apartment, before holding Sam’s gaze once more. “We’re looking for a Samuel Winchester?”

 _Please, God, not Wren._ “That’s me.”

“Mr. Winchester, would it be alright if we stepped inside for a moment?” Sam regretfully steps aside and the two men move into the apartment, but only far enough to allow Sam to close the door. Once it’s shut, the older man speaks again. “We’re here in regards to your brother, Dean Winchester.”

 _Shit._ “What’s he done now?” Sam hasn’t seen Dean in almost five years, and there are damn good reasons for that. When he left for college, he vowed to himself that he would never seek out Dean, or his father, again. Their lifestyle was not one he wanted to be involved in.

“We got word this morning from the police force in Athens, Georgia. Your brother was involved in a three-car accident. His car and another hit head-on before being engulfed in flames.” The officer’s hand reaches out tentatively to rest on Sam’s forearm. “I’m sorry, son, but there were no survivors.”

His legs give out immediately after the words sink in, and Reed is there, but doesn’t manage to catch him before he falls. All Sam can think about is the last conversation he had with his brother; yelling at Dean that California was going to be the greatest thing to ever happen to him. That he would rise above all the baggage that came with the name ‘Winchester’ and be more than Dean had ever even dreamed of.

Words spoken in childish anger that he would never be able to take back now. 

The grief ripping through him is more intense than he ever could have imagined. Sam remains in a complete and utter state of panic and remorse until finally, after an urgent call from Reed, Wren is there and wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers over and over in his ear.

It’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough.

\---

He wants to fly to Georgia but everyone tells him it’s pointless. He hears things like: ‘The ashes will be flown to you,’ and ‘As next of kin, funeral arrangements are your responsibility.’

It doesn’t sink in. He whispers over and over in his own mind that _Dean is dead_ but it doesn’t make a difference. There’s no body, so how can he believe it? Even when a box shows up two days later marked ‘priority’ and containing an urn full of ashes, Sam still doesn’t believe.

It takes four days before Wren gets fed up with his lack of sleep and gives him something to knock him out. The dream hits him like a freight train. He walks through a dense forest, moving straight towards the same large oak tree that he’s seen before. This time is different, but why?

When he’s just a few yards away, he sees the lone figure sitting at the base of the tree. _Dean._ He doesn’t look like the man he was when he died. He looks like the 22-year-old that Sam saw last. 

Sam runs without thinking, trying to get closer to the tree but it always stays just a few feet out of reach. “Dean!” he calls out. “Dean, please… _talk to me!_ ”

His brother turns at the sound of his name. A familiar smirk lights his face as Dean waves. His lips move, but there are no words. It doesn’t matter. Even after five years, Sam knows exactly what his brother is saying.

_’Hey Sammy!’_

\---

After that he wants to sleep, but Wren nudges him back into the real world. He gets up, goes to work, and spends nine hours thinking about why an oak tree is so important. What part that tree plays in Dean’s death.

He’s told his wife about his dreams in the past — even admitted to her that he had dreamt about Jess’ death days before it happened — but he doesn’t tell Wren about the tree. He goes to bed that night hoping to see Dean again, and when he wakes the next day he’s _angry_ over the lack of dreams.

It’s another week before he’s laying in bed and staring at Dean beneath a mossy oak tree. He doesn’t run this time, in fear that it will drive Dean’s spirit away. Instead, he walks slowly, calling out his brother’s name on every other footstep.

Unlike before, Dean stands and faces Sam. “Hey, Sammy,” he calls. “Heard you been looking for me?”

Dean’s face is older this time, and Sam can just barely make out the laughter lines on his face. He stops, leaving space between them, afraid of getting closer and waking up. “I’m sorry.”

A look of disappointment flashes in those haunting green eyes. “You should be, Sammy. I’m standing right here, showing you where I am, and you aren’t strong enough to save me. How could you let me die, Sam?”

“I didn’t!” he argues, shaking his head. Why is Dean blaming him? He wasn’t even there when Dean died. “I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Dean. But I would never let you die—”

“You already have.” Dean gives him a sad smile. “Time to wake up, Sammy.”

He jolts awake beside Wren, in the bedroom of the small apartment where he lives with his wife in San Diego… and nothing feels right.

\---

The tree starts to appear in real life, like that first time he noticed it in the Chevy commercial during halftime.

Sitting in his cubicle at work, Sam turns to his left and looks out the large window. From the second story vantage point, he can see the wide limbs of a mossy oak sprouting from the parking lot. He turns away quickly, and when he looks back, the tree is gone.

On the drive home that he’s taken hundreds of times, he sees the familiar tree in the middle of Canton park. He stops the car in the middle of traffic and makes a sudden turn onto the road that winds through the park. Five hundred feet in, he shuts his Dodge off and climbs out, staring at an oak tree disappearing before his eyes. 

Dream warps into reality and he can hear Dean’s voice. _Time to wake up, Sammy._

Except he doesn’t wake. Instead, he climbs back into his car and completes the drive home. 

He books a ticket to Georgia without thinking twice about it. He needs the see the damage to Dean’s car. Know in the tangled sheets of burnt metal that Dean really is dead.

Wren calls him crazy, but drives him to the airport nonetheless. “I love you,” she whispers. He’s hugging her just a few feet from the security checkpoint, wishing he’d booked two seats on the plane. He doesn’t want to leave his wife — she’s the only thing tying him to reality.

But they can’t both afford to randomly take a week off work in search of a dead brother’s ghost.

The flight is seven hours with a layover in Dallas. He sleeps and dreams of roots burrowing into Dean’s body.

\---

The last time Sam was in Georgia, he was sixteen. The memory doesn’t hit him until he’s climbing into a rental car outside of the airport.

After Dean hit eighteen, Dad left them alone even more. Dean was an adult, by Dad’s standards, so they were allowed the car and if they found a way to get money they could go where they pleased. For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, they drove to Atlanta for no reason other than they could. Dean had a brand new forged credit card that he used to put them up in the fanciest hotel around, and they ordered copious amounts of room service and pay-per-view porn.

Two nights in, they got drunk on expensive champagne and kissed in the hotel’s hot tub. Sam still can’t remember who initiated the kiss, but the memory of Dean fucking him senseless when they got back upstairs is clear as day.

It’s another reason why he ran away to California. Admitting you’re in love with your brother and you like having his dick up your ass isn’t exactly a good thing. Sam gave up everything that he ever wanted with Dean in hopes that life on the west coast would somehow be normal.

And it is. He’s got a wife and a one-bedroom apartment, and a job that pays well with benefits and his normal means Dean is dead.

The Athens police don’t know what to do with him. “His remains were shipped to San Diego,” an officer tells him. 

“I know,” Sam replies, exasperation leaking into his tone. “I want to see the car.”

The woman looks at him like he’s insane and growing an extra head. “What car? Dean Winchester died in a house fire.”

\---

It’s already late when he leaves the station, so Sam drives to the nearest motel in his rental car and checks into a room. He tries to fall asleep right away, but it’s pointless. After tossing and turning for two hours, he calls home with the hope that Wren will be able to soothe him to sleep.

She doesn’t answer. He listens to the voicemail that she’s had on her phone since before they got married and leaves a short message after the beep. “I love you. Wish you were here.”

After another hour of watching crap late night TV, he remembers the bottle of pills in his bag and swallows one down quickly. He needs to sleep, needs to have energy the next morning when he focuses on finding out the story behind Dean’s death.

Sam can’t remember falling asleep, but when he blinks his eyes open again, he’s staring at a different ceiling. He frowns, turns his head to the right and the cheap motel clock has been replaced with a fancier version with an iPod dock. _Weird._

“Mmm. Love waking you up like this. You always look so confused.”

 _Dean._ Sam lifts his head and looks down his body in the direction of his brother’s voice. Dean is resting between Sam’s legs, licking up Sam’s balls and along the underside of his cock. 

He doesn’t feel the pleasure until he sees it, which is the first hint that Sam is dreaming. He looks quickly around the room and recognizes it as the fancy place where they stayed in downtown Atlanta.

Dean sucks Sam’s cock completely into his mouth and Sam’s attention immediately focuses back on the blowjob. He’s carried away by the pleasure for a few moments, before he shakes his head and stares at the flat screen television behind Dean.

“I remember this. You got up early and prepped yourself. Then you woke me with a blowjob, and once I was screaming your name, you crawled up my body and sat on my cock.” Sam shivers, memory bleeding into reality. “Please, Dean.”

The Dean in his mind takes the plea as a cue to move. He slides up Sam’s body without hesitation and reaches around behind his back to guide Sam’s cock into his ass. 

It’s not what Sam wants, though. Even as Dean settles onto his lap, Sam grips his brother’s forearm and tries to grab his attention. “Tell me, Dean! Tell me how you died!”

“Fuck, Sammy, you feel so _good_.”

The scene plays out like he’s watching a movie — yelling at the victim to run from the serial killer that is _just_ around the corner. 

As Dean drags Sam’s orgasm out, Sam wakes with a start in a cheap motel bed. He’s got tears in his eyes and on his face.

“Damn it, Dean,” he whispers to the empty room.

\---

The GPS in his rental car takes Sam to a red dirt road that doesn’t look like it’s been used in years. It’s the address the police provided, though, so he turns onto the road and drives through the trees until he reaches a clearing.

Like the officer said, the burnt remains of an old farmhouse are in the middle of the clearing. Sam shuts his rental off and climbs out, staring at the rubble with more questions than answers. 

Why was Dean there? What had caused the fire? Where were all of Dean’s belongings — and his car?

A bird chirps from the east and Sam turns his head in that direction. That’s when he sees the tree.

He can only see the top of the old oak from so far away thanks to the weeds, so he immediately begins walking. He steps through overgrown cotton fields and walks for ten minutes before he can finally see the trunk of the tree.

Sam’s not sure if he expected to see Dean sitting there — further blending reality with dream — but he’s definitely not prepared for the sight of the large black Impala parked beside the tree’s base. 

There are weeds growing around the tires, and a few lines of rust on the wheel wells that Dean would never allow. How long has she been parked there? How long was Dean dead before they found his body? 

Sam walks closer, reaching out and tracing his fingers along the black paint, wanting to prove to his mind that the car really is sitting before him. He circles her slowly, wishing he had the keys to open the trunk and remember all of the weapons buried inside. 

Walking around to the passenger side of the car, he catches sight of a wooden cross sticking up from the earth at the base of the oak tree. A grave marker.

There’s writing on the horizontal piece of the cross, and he moves forward slowly, wanting to look but not wanting to see at the same time.

Dread is boiling in his stomach once more. Bubbling, rushing up his throat and threatening to escape. 

He blinks back tears as he drops to his knees before the cross, finally able to read the name.

“No,” he whispers. “No, it can’t be!” The tree doesn’t listen to his pleas.

 _SAM WINCHESTER_ is carved into the wood.

He can hear his brother’s voice, floating on the breeze. _”There ain’t no me, if there ain’t no you, Sammy. What’s the point in any of this, if you’re gone? Hunting, the Impala — I won’t be the same if you die. Hell, I’ll probably give it all up and ride around on a motorcycle, if you leave me. Because I can’t bear the thought of looking over to the passenger side and seeing an empty seat.”_

“Sam.”

He’s too busy crying over his own fucking grave to realize that he’s not alone. A solitary figure has stepped around the base of the large tree. He looks up, blinking past the tears until he can see her.

Sam wants to cry harder, because if he’s dead, if none of this is real, and she isn’t real either. “Wren.”

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, love.” Her red hair is practically glowing in the sunlight as she moves to him and kneels. She reaches out to lift his chin and smiles sadly. “It was the only way. Having you find out for yourself was the only way I could help you get back.”

He frowns, shaking his head and looking back at the grave marker with his own name on it. “Back? Back where? I don’t understand.”

“And you won’t, I’m sorry. It’s part of the curse.” She stands, holding onto his arm and dragging him to his feet as well. “All of this will just seem like a dream. Even me.” Curling her fingers into his hair, she leans up to kiss him. “Time to wake up, Sam.”

\---

Dean never thought he would be in a hospital long enough to learn the staff by name. But it’s been five months, and he’s not ready to give up yet.

In room 508, Sam looks the same as always when Dean walks in. The nurses keep Sam’s wild hair under control and his face shaved and for all intents and purposes it just looks like his younger brother is sleeping _really_ well. 

Dean’s gotten a medical opinion from every neurologist in the country. A hunter’s opinion from everyone Bobby and Ellen have ever met or heard of. The answer is always the same: Sam’s body is fine, but his mind is gone.

He’s in a coma deeper than Sleeping Beauty’s and he isn’t going to wake. 

Eleven people have tried to convince Dean to let Sam go. Doctors, hunters, Bobby, Ellen… everyone that thought they stood a chance at breaking through to Dean and getting him to agree.

Seven crossroads deals were attempted. The answer was always no. The magic, the spell, the curse — whatever had put Sam to sleep, wasn’t going to go away thanks to a deal with the devil.

Dean settles into his not-so-favorite chair next to Sam’s bed and smiles at the pretty redheaded nurse that’s gently shaving his brother. “Is he behaving today?” Dean asks. He pulls a book from his bag while he waits for her answer. In five months, he’s done enough research to last a lifetime.

“I think he’s ready,” the nurse answers. 

Dean assumes she means that the shave is complete, so he pays little attention to her putting away the supplies and moving to the door.

That is, until he hears the door click shut and looks up to see her still in the room. Damn. Despite his attempts to time his visits after ‘bath time’, he had obviously miscalculated. “If you’re going to give him a sponge bath, I think I’ll go grab a coffee.”

“Dean,” she says, moving back to Sam’s bedside. “I know that what you’re about to see is going to cause some alarm, but I’ve been preparing Sam for this ritual and he’s ready. My master is the one who cursed Sam with the sleeping spell, and it’s taken all of this time to ease into Sam’s mind and wake him slowly.” 

The book gets tossed aside quickly as Dean stands. “You know who’s responsible for this?!”

“Shh.” With a smile, she leans to Sam’s ear. “Time to wake up, Sam.”

It takes thirty long seconds, before Sam begins to stir. Dean feels his gut twist at just the sight of his brother’s stuttered movements — because it’s more than he’s seen in months.

“Sam?” He demands.

Hazel eyes blink open then, and Dean can’t stop the tears that prickle at his eyes as he reaches out to hug his brother. “Oh God, Sammy!”

Sam looks around the empty room, before focusing back on Dean. He opens his mouth to speak a few times before finally managing to find his voice. “I’m never going out drinking with you again.”

“What?” Dean feels confused until he remembers the night before Sam fell asleep. They decided to take a much needed vacation to Atlanta and for the first time ever, Dean splurged on a nice hotel. God, he can hardly remember that night after five long months. He looks up, wanting to thank the woman — whoever she is — for saving his brother, but she’s gone. He frowns for only a moment, before looking back at Sam.

“Listen, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean states, “you have a lot of catching up to do.”


End file.
